On the morning of our wedding my alarm went off at six. The night before I had brought all my bridal beauty essentials to my parents’ house, back to my childhood room where my sister Claudia and I used to sleep years ago. It was the same address, the same view, the same garden and the same air, yet it all felt like it belonged to another life.
By six I was already awake. I slipped out of bed quietly so as not to disturb Claudia, who was still asleep, and went downstairs to have breakfast with my mum. She is always the first up and had already made coffee in the moka, a crostata and a yogurt cake. We had to be ready to welcome not only a hairdresser and a makeup artist, but also the stream of friends who would stop by before the ceremony. A calm, ordinary mother-and-daughter coffee quickly gave way to a cheerful whirl of people, hugs and kisses that wouldn’t stop until late that night.
Chiara and Giulia, friends who took care of hair and makeup, arrived first and turned my parents’ living room into a little salon. Shortly after, my sister Claudia and Tommaso’s cousin, our two reliable witnesses, came downstairs. Then one by one Regula, Sarka, Laura, Valeria, Anna and Lauretta appeared at the door. Mum played hostess, distributing coffees and slices of cake. Grandma stood to the side, taking everything in, already dressed in a new elegant suit with a pink dressing gown over it to keep it clean.
In all this, Noa was missing, as she had slept with Tommaso the night before.
She arrived soon after, slipping in through the kitchen door, tail wagging and leaving white hair on everyone, full of excitement as if she sensed the importance of the day. Hidden inside her collar was a handwritten note from Tommaso — a little secret communication across the morning bustle. From that moment I felt a wave of emotion that didn’t let go until the day was over.
I felt like the leading lady in one of those romantic films that shaped my sentimental education, the comedies where you already know how beautifully they will end. I often revisit those hours, though my memory of them is hazy at times, blurred by tears of joy, makeup, hairspray and the early rising.
At ten, the house emptied like Cinderella when the clock strikes midnight.
Suddenly it was just me, my dad — who would drive me to the church — and Noa, who would join us again later in the morning. Andrea, our friend and the day’s photographer, asked me to stay put until he called; he needed a bit more time with the groom. The church was only five minutes away, so I tried to be patient.
I placed my bouquet on the old well in the garden and paced the path, greeting neighbors who waved from windows and nervously checking my veil and braid. My dad was eager to leave and walk me down the aisle — a very short walk given the size of the Mensanello country church.
When Andrea finally said go, I kissed Noa goodbye, inhaled deeply and tried to fold myself into a Fiat 500. My uncle had lent us a Fiat 500 Abarth for the day and it zipped us the short way to the church.
When my dad parked beside the church, I was surrounded by smiling faces, applause, a bright sun, shouted greetings, reassuring looks, my father’s arm to hold, veil to adjust, and pebbles to avoid in my heels. But my hand felt empty — something was missing.
The bouquet! I’d left it on the well! I shouted, and panic flickered among the guests, accustomed to the melodrama of modern weddings. I started to laugh — there’s always something that goes wrong — and I had been prepared to walk down the aisle without it. I had ordered the bouquet months earlier and bought matching flowers for Noa’s collar, the witnesses and the boutonnieres. Still, I resigned myself to being bouquet-less.
Then Sara, one of my young relatives, came out of the church holding a bouquet. She’d been given a spare by my aunt so she could have a part in the day. Sara looked radiant — triumphant, as if she’d just saved the wedding. I took the bouquet, gripped my dad’s arm and we entered the church to the Ave Maria, sung beautifully by our friend Valentina.
Tommaso stood there, excited and moved; he looked at me, took my hand and never let go.
Four months have passed since that day. Often I look at the photos to remind myself it really happened and wasn’t just a dream. I wore a ’50s-style white dress with a short veil and we married in the small church of Mensanello. We pulled it off despite growing to-do lists, work deadlines and the unexpected. We wanted a wedding that reflected us: simple, warm and personal.
It took more effort than we expected, but with the help of many friends the day became even more special.
For weeks afterward we rode a wave of emotion, celebrating the day and each other. Now, four months on, as life’s rhythms have settled back into routine, it’s time to celebrate again.
As I promised a few months ago, here are some photos and more details about the menu, the location and, of course, the wedding cake.
The location, Mensanello
Mensanello is an agriturismo and working Tuscan farm. We use their wine and extra virgin olive oil in our cooking classes and share their beer when we bake pizza in our wood-fired oven. We are friends and feel lucky to grow alongside them in this lesser-known part of Tuscany, gathering over good food and conversation — often when the best ideas appear.
Tommaso first suggested getting married there after we attended our friends Marta and Conrado’s wedding at Mensanello. It didn’t take long for the idea to become part of our plans, especially since the little church we wanted was right in front of the farm. We liked the idea of arriving and staying in one place within a village, making it a true country wedding.
The wedding decorations
We wanted a homemade feel, so we handled much of the decoration ourselves. Over the summer we collected jars and bottles, bought candles and candlesticks, chose flowers at the market the morning before the wedding and bought around fifty pots of fresh herbs. A visit to Luisa at Il Rigo and a quick DIY session helped shape the centerpiece ideas sketched on a yellow paper placemat.
The afternoon before the wedding our two indispensable Claudias gathered rosemary, lemon verbena, pineapple sage and wild flowers from around Mensanello. They arranged them in jars and bottles to pair with candles and herbs for each table. We used white tablecloths and jute runners. By ten the preparations were done; we had dinner at Mensanello with friends, said our goodnights and parted, knowing we’d meet again early the next morning at the church.
Regula and Bruno designed our invitations using watercolor flowers painted by Tommaso’s mother and crafted meters of bunting to decorate the Mensanello veranda. Regula, Bruno, Sarka and Francesca transformed a country porch into a reception area with an English-country wedding feel.
For the wedding favors we kept a botanical theme.
We selected small succulents from Giardino Sotto Vico, a botanical garden and community space with a wonderful collection of succulents from around the world. It’s also an educational, therapeutic and social center where creativity is encouraged and differences are bridged through expression.
The cheese
A few days before the wedding we visited friends at Podere Paugnano in Radicondoli. Driving there through woodlands and sunburnt fields at late-summer light, we were still ticking off lingering tasks: flowers, herbs, menus. We spent September in a perpetual state of checklists.
Arriving at Paugnano brought a sudden, soothing calm. From the farm you see the medieval town of Radicondoli perched on a hill and then only valleys, woods and fields. The soft tinkling of sheep bells and distant bleats punctuated the air. Cats ran to greet us and Giovanna welcomed us with a smile and a hug.
I discovered Giovanna and Giovanni’s cheeses by chance and quickly fell for their young and aged pecorino, fresh ricotta, robiola and my favorite, the milky raveggiolo. They produce cheese daily using both animal and ancient vegetable rennet derived from the wild thistle, cinaria cardunculus, called presura in Tuscany.
Giovanni’s family arrived from Barbagia in Sardinia in 1969. Over time they moved from selling milk to making their own cheeses. They are the only farm in Tuscany producing pecorino di Lucardo, an ancient cheese mentioned in Boccaccio. Made with vegetable rennet and aged in cloth bags of flax and hemp, it is a compact, savory cheese that, after long maturation, recalls Parmesan. It was once so valuable it served as currency.
For our wedding we chose Paugnano cheeses: a fresh pecorino, an aged pecorino, and a robiola.
We served the Paugnano cheeses with a selection of honey and jams.
Among the accompaniments were jars of local raw honey given by friends Marta and Conrado — precious because we believe their bees also visited our blooming acacia trees. We included onion jam, a staple from our cooking classes, and a spicy tomato jam I made that summer.
The ricotta ravioli
At first I imagined cooking for our own reception, picturing myself bringing out trays of lasagna with a grease-stained apron over my dress. But once we committed to Mensanello, I realized it made more sense to leave the cooking to the farm while staying involved in menu choices and ingredients. That way I could enjoy the day without going mad. Fortunately, I was reasonable for once.
We wanted homemade pasta — specifically ricotta ravioli made with fresh sheep ricotta from Paugnano. The night before the wedding we turned up at Mensanello with bags of ravioli made weeks earlier and frozen, ready to be served with a white pork sauce.
I managed to eat only one raviolo on the wedding day, as tradition had us spending more time standing and chatting around tables than sitting down. We had probably made too many — about 1,500 ravioli — and we’re still eating them weeks later.
The wedding cake
I met Emanuela over ten years ago on a culinary forum and we crossed paths often through cooking classes and mutual friends until we became close. Emanuela is a pastry chef known as La Dolce Peonia. She teaches pastry classes, collaborates with pastry shops and restaurants and often works in Paris.
She was among the first to know we were getting married and I couldn’t imagine anyone better to make our cake. After tastings we chose a cake of dark chocolate biscuit brushed with orange syrup (left from candying orange peels), filled with sheep ricotta and chocolate drops, and covered in a vanilla white chocolate ganache. It was not overly sweet, light and much enjoyed. In the wedding video you can even hear my mum remark appreciatively: “Mmmhh buona la torta!”
We froze a slice to eat on our first anniversary next September 22nd.
Emanuela also prepared a dessert buffet: choux craquelin filled with mascarpone chantilly and orange marmalade, coffee biscuits, zezettes and small glasses of ricotta cheesecake, all paired with our homemade liqueurs — limoncello, nocino, bergamot and verbena liqueur.
Scenes from a wedding
Our friends Sarka and Pavel surprised us with a wedding video that perfectly captures how we felt and how much we enjoyed the day. We’ve watched it many times and it brings back every detail and emotion.